


Original Work - Survival Horror?

by astudyincastiel



Category: Original Work
Genre: Gen, That zombie thing wot I was gonna write, Zombie Apocalypse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-07
Updated: 2015-03-06
Packaged: 2018-03-16 16:18:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 1,389
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3494894
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/astudyincastiel/pseuds/astudyincastiel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Snippets from an original Zombie Apocalypse thing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Ineffable

**Author's Note:**

> Something I was going to write for NaNo one year, but never managed to finish. All that's left are a few snippets and a couple of names.
> 
> These are responses to some one word prompts on the NaNo forums.

"I...n...e...f...i...b...a...l?"

Sarah's voice is ridiculously loud in the silence of the tiny office, and I can hear Emily anxiously warning her that she's going to have to talk quieter. Personally, I don't think it's going to matter, but if it makes the lady feel better, power to her. If spelling lessons keep the kid from freaking out, too, it's not the strangest thing I've experienced today.

Across the room, I can see Benny trying to look like he's not checking me out where I'm sitting on top of the desk. I wish he'd just get on with it, you know? Any jock that can string two sentences together without sounding like a moron is totally my type. The situation is probably making him feel like an idiot, though.

Plus, I don't think Emily wants her daughter to see two guys making out on a desk, even if we all might die in the next ten minutes.

"Say it again, mommy; I think you're saying it funny." Sarah's stage whispering now, which isn't much better than before, but it placates her mother.

"Ineffable," says Emily, and her voice wavers a little. It's probably ironic that she picked that particular word, right? I mean, it's pretty fitting for our situation; it's nearly impossible to describe what's going on around here in words, or to even think about it. Thankfully, we don't have to do much thinking, do we? That's for the people on the outside, the people who are probably sitting on a nice, cushy couch somewhere making abstract decisions while I stab shit in the face.

All we have to do is survive this mess.

"I...n...e...f...f? Uhm...a...b...l...e." Exactly.


	2. Empty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Snippets from an original Zombie Apocalypse thing.

The hall is long, and dark, and full of dark doorways. I'm starting to think that maybe coming inside was the worst idea I've ever had. Which is saying something, because a lot of the ideas I've had in my life haven't been very good.

Dropping out of college. Settling for a horrible retail job with the manager from hell. Pizza flavored pop-tarts. Having sex with that guy who kept checking out my ass at work. My track record with ideas is pretty dismal.

But the others had agreed that it'd be quicker to go through the school than around it, and I'd nodded. Said that it made sense. Because it did, didn't it? Straight lines and two points and all that jazz. I hope I'm not the only one who's having second thoughts; I should turn around and check, but something about showing my back to the hall makes me more nervous than admitting I wasn't drunk when I got that little heart tattooed on my hip. What?

"Sounds empty." Thanks, Carter, I don't know what I'd do if you hadn't stated the obvious. Still, we've all been out in this bullshit for too long to believe that 'sounding empty' actually means nothing's lurking in the shadows. I tug my knives out of my belt with a sigh and step forward; I've got a bad feeling about this.


	3. Remember

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Snippet from an original Zombie Apocalypse thing.

"Do you remember when we first met?"

For a brief second, my efforts to pull the grate free stop, and I stare open mouthed at Ben. He's serious about the question, I can tell, but I can't help but roll my eyes anyway. Seriously?

"Yeah," I say, trying to regain the leverage that I'd just lost. "It was about two days ago in the middle of a pack of undead cheerleaders with varying degrees of wardrobe malfunction. Now are you gonna help me get this thing outta the way, or are you lost on memory lane?"

He laughs and starts pushing, and strangely it feels like a victory; the touching, deeply emotional kind that comes at the end of horror movies when all looks lost but the main character and their love interest keep trying. As if I wasn't girly enough, right? Except, despite the situation, there's nothing that urgent going on at the moment. Just the two of us, blocked off from freedom in the basement of an overrun convenience store. In an hour, maybe two, we'll be torn apart and eaten, but I figure we can make it out before that happens.

Shit. When did I become the one with the unwavering strength of character and determination to get anyone through this? That's not like me at all; I blame the kid. It's all Sarah's fault.


	4. Choice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Snippets from an original Zombie Apocalypse thing.

Red pill or blue pill?

DSL or cable?

Sniper rifle or shotgun?

+40 attack power or +23 agility?

Left or right? Up or down? On or off?

Live or die?

It's impossible to get away from choices. Even if you hate making them, you're making a choice to try not to make choices. It's a vicious cycle; horrible in it's simplicity.

I myself? I usually make the wrong choices. How do I know this? I know because my life never seems to get any better. I kept the same horrible job, lived in the same shitty apartment, and spent all my nights in bed with the same lack of company. Don't be mistaken, though; I knew most of my choices were wrong, but I didn't care. It never seemed important to try very hard if what I had, depressing as it was, worked.

So I'm not sure if I know how to make the right choices, even if I can tell what they are. Or, at least, I think I can tell what they are. It takes a certain kind of person to always do the right thing, especially when the wrong thing is probably easier.

Like right now, for example. I could turn around and run, hit the street and hope someone left their car unlocked and the road isn't clogged half a mile away. I could find someplace to hide and hope that all this blows over and that, if it doesn't, the end comes quick enough that I don't feel it. I mean, hell, I've never even **liked** kids, so why should that pair of wide, blue eyes mean anything to me, right?

Or I can save them; make my best attempt, at least. I can toss my life on the line for some kid I don't even know, cross the room, show that gang of monsters who's boss, and pretend I'm some sort of hero. If I'm lucky. I can drag her along with me, try to keep her safe, and look for a way out of this all while trying to make sure she's not completely scarred for life.

Which choice is the right one? For me, it's the one where I run away. In the chaos this city has become, all you can do is keep yourself alive, even if it means letting someone else die. But like I said, I usually make the wrong choices, so I'm pulling out my zombie-slaying knife and I'm taking my chances.

We're all going to die eventually; why should I play things safe?


	5. Superstition

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Snippets from an original Zombie Apocalypse thing.

I was never really close to my family; my parents couldn't accept my chosen lifestyle and my grandparents died before I was old enough to really retain anything they might have had to tell me. So I'm not too sure where I heard that, for luck, you should spit on a new bat before you use it. Baseball has never been a topic in any of my conversations. Ever. Just as I was never into girls, I was never into sports either; a double threat to the collective masculinity of the planet, right?

But I digress. The point here is that I'd heard that somewhere and had nothing to lose by spending a few extra seconds anointing my new Rawlings. Considering everything else that had happened today, I wouldn't be shocked at all if the act helped me actually **hit** something. Or at least hit it with enough force to keep it from getting back up again.

Were circumstances slightly different, I'd probably feel like the main character in Dead Rising; not a bad game, except for the part where Frankie couldn't run for shit. Of course, there's something about hitting lurching middle school kids in Little League uniforms that's pretty different from battering badly dressed mall patrons.

Well, maybe not **that** much different.


End file.
